


"Tú No Puedes Hacer Que, M'ijo."

by twistedrainbows8908



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Background Relationships, Comfort, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Health, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, English, Español | Spanish, Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Platonic Relationships, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Two Endings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 06:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17279102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedrainbows8908/pseuds/twistedrainbows8908
Summary: Miguel had been having a significantly harder time after the death of his Mamá Coco. Despite the improvements throughout his life, he had grown into a more personal battle. He hadn't won against these demons, at least not yet. He was scared, and just waiting for several sort of help to come along in his life, or, well, afterlife. He shut his eyes, waiting on both sides, still.





	1. "Tú No Puedes Hacer Que, M'ijo."

**Author's Note:**

> This did begin as a vent piece, and I apologize for any out of character situations or long sessions between chapter. Constructive criticism is welcomed!

The young boy, somewhat small for his age, had landed himself within the land of the dead again, once again turning into a skeleton, though it was only a finger or two at this point, patiently waiting for his family. His brown eyes, filled with specks of a shimmering gold, though the brightness within them appeared to have died, facing their demise before his body and mind could catch up.

Another difference was the fact that his overcoat had been snatched away from him upon entry, though he was alresdy in shorts and a tank top. He was covered in cuts, unorganized, hastily-made, and much deeper that the scars underneat, which had since turned to raised scars, with a paleness that the rest of his skin didn't hold, though it didn't look the best either.

He stared down, an official watching from the corner, sternly, Miguel occasionally locking their lines of sight together, before looking back down at his own feet, they'd given him sandals. His hair was still wet, showing that he'd been in the water when he tried, most likely a bath tub. He cast his attention downwards, quietly waiting until his family, a group, or just a member or two, showed up. He kept shifting in his chair, eventually pulling his legs up to his chest. He was growing more and more anxious as he waited for someone any family member to come get him. He felt unsafe, uncomfortable, even downright scared. 

He sighed, and lifted his head. He finally brought himself to speak again, his voice raspy and tired. "¿Qué hora es? ¿Cuál tiempo más?", in a small, finally a bit more audible state. He managed to get la guardía's attention, their more vertical skull turning to look at him. They seemed uncomfortable as well as quite concerned for the young man sitting halfway across the room. 

He sighed, before cracking a small smile and speaking up again, "They'll be here any second now, niño. Theu sounded muchas nerviosas aveces tú...". He turned back from him, going to look at the calavera-shaped door once again, made out a deep mahogany with golden glass surrounding it and making up details, such as tuvo ojos. It was framed with wrought iron, and a golden, skull shaped light bulb. Miguel's eyebrows furrowed, face scrunching up in worry, even further than before, before he nodded and moved to look at the polished wooden floor a

They sat for about five minutes longer, Miguel having tangled his new found skeletal system into an absolute pretzel. He was shaking slightly, as if he could still feel the freezing cold water he'd put himself in. He squeezed his eyes shut, putting down enough pressure to possibly even cause a few small cracks in bones, if he kept going for too much longer. Both of the individuals soon heard the door begin to crack open, both looking up all of a sudden, their faces still pained. The wood came open, slowly, gasps emerging from directly in the line of sight of their Miguelito precioso dulcito.


	2. "No Precoupas, M'ijito. No Preocupas. "

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had seen a glimpse of the trouble their boy had suffered, and managed to bring him back into the light, despite it being an incredibly small step. They managed to save him, bringing him to the beginning of his next journey.

They both rushed in, their faces twisted as far in concern as their skeletal features could go. They had only been told another Rivera had died, with no further detail on who exactly it had been, not even an age range. They had been expecting to see someone like Elena, even just another adult, instead of their precious angelito. He'd saved one of their after-lives only a few years ago and had greatly improved the other, saving them from an even longer life of anger, longing, and misunderstanding. Even with all he had done for them, saving their lives, here he was. He stared up at them, his eyes trained and filled with emotion. He seemed unsure, and scared. A large amount of his leftover, visible bones were still covered in scars and markings, carved into the still pure white, outer layer. Even his cabeza seemed to be roughed up, cuts across the marks, appearkng to be similar to both his abuelos. 

His grandmother made the first move, clambering onto her knees in front of him, letting out a groan. Of course, she was much healthier now, but she still suffered from some joint pain. She moved her hands, her dedos creating a soft clack as she held her niño's head, looking up him. She'd managed to conceal her concern for now, looking at him with love and care written across all her features. She gave a sigh, rubbing her thumbs at her cheeks. She managed to speak up, her question simple, "¿Qué pasó, niño?". She hoped not even this seemed too pressing, only wanting to help her darling boy. His grandfather, his inspiración, had joined her, sitting beside him. He gave a nod, eyebrows still furrowed in concern with a frrown spread across the lower half of his face as he slowly rubbed at his back. 

Son hijo, now having began to grow even taller and lankier, as was his grandfather, finally moved to relax, his legs slipping slightly. His arms stayed wrapped around su rodillos, his head still hung. "No... no hice más todos. No sienté tener opción otra." He still didn't move to look at either them, not even shooting the occasional glance. He still felt horrifying disappointed in himself, and figured that they should've felt the same way he did. Even with this, they were only concerned, at least for now. They were unsure of and scared for why a sixteen year old boy, their sixteen year old boy, was already in the Land of The Dead, not to mention how ragged he appeared to be. Imelda shook her head, and stood, leaning over the chair to wrap the boy in her arms, as tightly as she possibly could. 

"It's not your fault.", she stated clearly, her voice still tonged with emotion. She began to cook softly, and looked down at him once again. She moved one of her arms, tilting his chin up ith her now free hand. "M'ijito, you don't need to seem so closed off. We're here to help, we aren't upset." She gave a soft, caring smile, his grandfather's face sounding as well, the remnants of his lips up turning. 

Even with this, Miguel furrowed his eyebrows, his face clustering and crunching up. He seemed to be confused. He felt like he was having so many different concepts thrown at him, overwhelming his brain and his processing system. He comtimued to stare for a few more moments, his gaze switching between both of the family members surrounding him. He finally spoke up, is voice still quiet and anxious, "Podemos ir a la casa...?"

His grandparents smiled gently, and gave him small, soft nods. Hectór spoke up, his voice as understanding as ever, especially with one of his own children. "Sí, m'ijo, qué necesitas todos." They moved to help him up and out of his foxed, preyzel position, looming over him, bent at the hips, as they walked. They attempted to convey a sense of protection to him, hoping to make him feel at least safe in any possible manner. Hectór managed to give a wave to the guard, quietly stating that he y su esposa would be back para trabajan o los papels luego. They then walked slowly and patiently, leading the smaller boy. He'd grown, but not to the extent of su taratarataraabuelo. He wasn't even taller than his abuela, the mujere más corta in son familia. They left the hustle and bustle of the Department of Family Reunions, finally beginning to walk their way a son casa.


	3. Sus Niño

He'd been expecting the same busy, loud streets are before, pleasantly surprised when he found out his grandmother actually had a car, despite being a model muy viejo. He was placed into the backseat. He leant to the left, his elbow resting against the inner side of the door. He watched the city and people rush by, the world seeming so fast and resilient. He had barely spoken the entire trip, his grandparents occasionally glancing back, the worry filling their nonexistent hearts fully shown on their faces. He never spotted them, at least they didn't think so.

Neither of them spoke, trying to plan out in their own minds what they could do with their boy. This sort of death was rare, especially when they were alive. They were even less sure of how to deal with such a situation, especially with their own grandson. They even even more unsure than the guard that had been partially taking care of him. They first need to realize how they could interact with him without making him anixous or overwhelmed, as well as keeping him from the elements that could cause him to go into another state where he was just, absolutely frozen once again. They wanted to make him as comfortable, alegre, y seguro as they possibly could before attempting to dig into and understand his reasoning.

They were lucky enough to be the only individuals at the back of the property when they got home, the shop still open. Everyone else was still hard at work, only Imelda and Heat having gone, as to not frighten their new ancestor. The family always had two extra rooms prepared, one for a new family member, if the event occurs, and the second was outfitted for guests. The shorter boy observed his surroundings, eyes flickering all over his surroundings. They managed to get him into bed, carefully getting him comfortable, all wrapped p in a lovingly homemade quilt.

They both made certain that he had fallen asleep, Hectór staying with his darling grandson to help make sure his safe calm state was maintained. He also wanted to prevent any chance of Miguel harming himself or assist him in dealing with anything in the seemingly ginormous range of possibilities. He took residece in an antique, polished oak chair beside the bed, watching the teenager with a concerned expression, his eyebrow bone furrowed and the corners of his mouth down turned. He was hunched over, holding his own band tightly, need spread wider than his shoulders. Miguel was curled up in a ball once again, jerking and tightening in unpredictable and uneven intervals. Imelda made her way into the shop, letting out the anouncemennof who had joined them, as well as calling out the need for a family meeting both before and after their sweet child had woken up. She left one again, going to sit with her husband, such a beautiful man, so full of love and care. She curled up tightly to him, holding onto him tightly in. She pulled in close, soon loving to cry into his chest, sobs muffled as he wrapped his arms around her, his head resting on hers as he rubbed her back with his long, nimble hand and phalanges, attempting to comfort his dear wife.

**Author's Note:**

> ¡Gracias para Leyendaste! Please tell me if there are any mistakes in my Español!


End file.
